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checking the book every fifteen minutes to make sure she did everything correctly. I found her in the kitchen at the bar several times, mostly just watching, but also questioning the cooks on how to do something or why they did something, or even, “What is that spoon with all the holes in it for?”
    It seemed a bit strange that a girl who had never learned anything domestic would suddenly become Miss Suzy Homemaker. I wondered if she was trying to put on an act. After watching her, both at home and at the bar, I decided it was something very different.
    She wanted to please people, to make them like her. She was almost desperate to please, like a dog that had been abused. If anyone spoke harshly, she flinched, even though it wasn’t directed at her. And it never was. Everyone loved her. She watched me constantly, gauging my reaction to everything she said. As I became aware of her behavior, I noticed she did the same thing with almost everyone.
    I asked Kathy, trying to make it sound casual, what she thought of Cecily. In Kathy’s typical no-nonsense manner, she said, “Someone in that girl’s past deserves to be horse whipped. She’s been treated very badly. I don’t know if it was her parents, or a boyfriend. She treats any kind word like she did her food the day she walked in here. Like it’s precious.”
    Occasionally, Cecily teased me about not wanting to sleep with her. But I could tell she had been in situations where she had grown used to giving men her body to survive. That’s not what I wanted, nor did I want her to sleep with me out of gratitude. Hell, I couldn’t decide if I wanted her to sleep with me at all, but I ached every morning when I saw her at breakfast. I wanted to touch her, to hold her, but I kept telling myself it wasn’t the right thing to do.
    I had to wonder exactly what she was hiding. Was it only bad experiences, or something more? A drunk tried to hit on her one night, and she reacted as if he was assaulting her. He never touched her, or even came within three feet of her, but she backed away from him, her hand going to the leather thong around her neck, and practically ran in the other direction. Another night, when a sheriff’s deputy walked in the bar, I could have sworn her expression was one of pure terror. She quickly turned and headed for the ladies’ room and didn’t come out until he left.
    I took her out to the garage one day and showed her my mom’s car. The dogs followed us. They minded her as well as they did me, and they loved her. She would run with them, play tug-of-war, and scratch their ears and bellies until they had doggie orgasms. I noticed that the box of treats seemed to be emptier than I remembered. I asked her if she grew up with dogs, and she told me her mother had a toy poodle. It was the only time she answered any of my questions about her past.
    Pointing to the car, I said, “It’s just sitting there, Cecily. I can probably get it running again in a day or two. It needs an oil change, tune up, and a good checkup. It was running fine when Mom last drove it. Would you like to use it?”
    “I don’t know how to drive, Jake. I don’t have a driver’s license. Thanks for the offer, though.” She stood looking at the car, and then she said, “How long ago did your mom die?”
    I hated to think of that day, but it wasn’t as though it was a big dark secret. Everyone knew what had happened.
    “Three years ago. I was in Afghanistan, and Jared was starting his master’s degree at the university in Boulder. My dad was a pilot, and he, Mom and Mary took off to fly to Aspen for the weekend. The plane went down in the mountains. It took them a few days to reach the wreckage, and it was too late.”
    I took a deep breath. The pain was still very sharp.
    “The Marines let me out early, before my tour was up. Jared dropped out of school. We came home, sold off all the cattle and most of the horses, and took over the bar. Neither of us wanted to be a